


The Agony of Victory; The Thrill of Defeat.

by Mortissimo



Category: The Tribe (TV 1999)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Dubious Consent, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-24
Updated: 2007-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 21:30:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mortissimo/pseuds/Mortissimo





	1. Stockholm.

  
Jay's sure that he's spent days, by now, drifting in and out of consciousness. Every so often another Techno comes in, someone whose name he used to know, someone he used to nod cordially to in the hallway every morning. They slap Jay, yank his head back by his hair, splash him with ice-cold glasses of water. This long without sleep, he begins to grow delirious. Jay begins to see halos of light around everything. His captors, the security camera, the buzzing fixture overhead. Soon, tiny figures begin to appear woven throughout the bright coronas, dancing to music Jay can almost hear. He's so far gone that he doesn't notice when the guards finally stop coming, only slips into a black and dreamless sleep.

When he awakens next, it's to a gentle touch, careful fingers carding through his hair. All he can see is darkness, and he's alternately terrified of finding this to be a dream and finding himself blinded by an overzealous Techno before he finally realises what the smooth cloth pressing down on his eyelids must be. His hands are bound securely behind his back, still, tied together and to the crossbar of the folding chair he's been in since forever. His feet are similarly bound to the legs of the chair, at a barely-uncomfortable angle. As Jay opens a parched mouth to speak, rasping quietly instead, the hands leave his hair. Bootsteps sound across the room and back. A hand is replaced at the back of his head, a cool, wet curve placed at his lips. They part a second time, and a cool trickle of water twists its way down his throat. Jay swallows gratefully for a long few seconds, before the cup is taken away again.

A warm, slight presence settles across his lap, long thighbones crossing his at acute angles. Jay is startled but too tired to protest. A far-off part of him dimly hopes this kind phantom is Amber, but he knows how unlikely that is. What is this, then, a new form of torture? Jay hasn't a clue. It certainly wasn't in Techno protocol when he was in charge. There is a shifting closer, and Jay can feel warm breaths on his face, long but jagged. He tries to focus on the sound of the breathing, trying to guess at an identity, but comes up with nothing. Closer yet, and long, hard lines of chest and abdomen lie against him. Still without identity, Jay at least has a gender on which to build a profile now.

Startling, though he half-expected it, a brief kiss lands at Jay's throat. A while ago, now, he'd lost the top to his uniform. Jay's in only his undershirt now, the thin black tank top offering little protection as a hesitant touch glides up his bare arms, up his neck, and stops to enclose his jaw. This time, it's all too clear what's coming. Giving a token struggle, against the aching protest of his weary bones, Jay tries to turn his head to one side. But he's held fast, unmoving as a brief brush of lips is imposed upon him.

"Who are you?" He croaks harshly after he and the other have parted, weariness colouring the question with a desperation he can't quite bring himself to actually feel. Jay is kissed again, more solidly this time, and he feels the tip of a tongue brushing the thin line between his lips. He is torn, for a long moment, between acquiescence and resistance. This man who has Jay in his power doesn't seem to want to harm him, and Jay can hardly bring himself to stay awake, let alone struggle. Then again, if Jay doesn't struggle, he's not sure what this will be. Not lovemaking, he's sure of that at least, but neither would it be rape. It doesn't feel like rape now, this gentle and warm imposition. How it feels... is good.

Jay parts his lips. Immediately the kiss grows hungry, the folding chair beneath their bodies creaking as Jay is kissed desperately, with the passion of lovers about to be forced apart. Again, he can feel his mind wandering, but an incongruent sensation still draws his attention: a cool, smooth line pressed into his cheek. Like glass. Like glasses. That narrows the field considerably. The sliver of a groan escapes his tightly-controlled assailant as their teeth click together briefly, and Jay's heart freezes. He knows the voice.

The kiss breaks off, and both of them are clearly short of breath from it, their pants mingling together in the brief space between their mouths. Now that he knows what to listen for, Jay is certain he can hear the ghost of Mega's voice in the sharp breaths. The thought of it, of kissing Mega, isn't as terrible as Jay would have expected it to be. Intellectually, he's aware that he must hate Mega, but lack of sleep has brought Jay to a place beyond logic. All he is sure of is the slide of teeth and lips and tongue.

Leaning forward blindly, Jay clumsily meets Mega's mouth again. There is a soft sound at this, a grunt of pleased surprise, and if he had any doubts before, they're gone now. Mega is the one straddling him, kissing him, working slow hands up the inside of his shirt. Jay's sure the idea ought to disturb him more than it does, but all he can feel is exhausted and aroused, the warm tingling spreading through his limbs competing with the buzzing inside his skull. The kiss has broken and reformed twice, three times by now, Mega's hands tracing lazy circles across his chest and over his back. Jay's breath hitches in his throat as Mega's thumbs brush his nipples. They break apart for one brief moment as Jay's shirt is lifted over his head, slid down his arms to hang somewhere near his elbows. If he hadn't been tied up already, no doubt he would have found the restriction irritating.

There is a quiet rustle as Mega slides off his legs, twin muted thunks as Mega's knees hit the floor. His hands still gentle, imploring instead of demanding, Mega nudges Jay's thighs apart and moves forward to kneel between them. Broad hands brace at Jay's hips, and moments after he gasps as Mega's tongue darts over his right nipple. For a while they were nearly of a height, but now Jay has a good six inches on Mega, at least, and suddenly he very desperately wants to be able to see Mega on his knees, see the long curve his back must make as he stretches upwards. For a dangerous second Mega's name is on his lips, but the sound is twisted into a sharp groan as Mega's teeth close around his nipple carefully and tug. The spot is seared with a kiss as a flippant apology, and Mega moves on.

Mega's hands ghost up and over his ribs.A trail is kissed and nuzzled across the flat plane of Jay's stomach, moving subtly with each hitched, shallow breath. Mega's mouth pauses at Jay's navel, tongue-lashes burning into the shallow depression. The chair squeals in protest as Jay arches his back, his hips twitching up pleadingly. The hands at his ribs hold him steady for a moment and are gone, leaving warm phantoms in their places. Jay's belt is unbuckled with a quiet click, pulled out of its loops in a slow, steady movement, and set carefully on the floor. A faint brush traces the edge of his erection, as though Mega is surprised to find it there, and Jay bites back another groan.

Deft fingers unbutton and unzip Jay's trousers quickly. Another faint touch glides over his erection, a hundred times more burning through only the thin cotton of his briefs. A second pass, as though searching, and the hand slips inside and draws it out into the air. There's barely a pause, barely time to breathe before Jay feels the first wary lick, at the base of his cock. He groans aloud, feels the hand at his hip tighten in answer. Sleep is suddenly the farthest thing from his mind. What he wants now, suddenly more than anything, is to see Mega's face as Mega goes down on him. But even sleep-deprived and utterly unable to think straight, Jay knows Mega well enough to know how far that is from any realm of possibility ever. Not well enough, though, to have seen any of this coming. Meaning either the betrayal, or the not-quite-sex-yet, or both.

The next lick is a bit more self-assured, a long line of fire tracing from the root to the tip. Another directly behind it, and another, a twin set of soft flicks across the underside of the head, and Jay's hips jerk up again, beyond his control. At this rate, he thinks incongruously, he might die before he gets anywhere near orgasm. At last, a warm mouth- _Mega's_ warm mouth closes over the head of his erection, tongue gently probing at the slit. The hands at his hips are gone, now, so Jay has to put forth some concerted effort towards not simply losing himself and thrusting into the wet heat. Dimly, he's aware of the brief tearing sound of a zipper being yanked down furiously, the slide and snap that only comes from trying to get out of a Techno uniform top too quickly. There's the soft thunk of material being tossed aside and, with a deep breath that tickles Jay's hypersensitive cock, Mega swallows him completely.

There's a long few seconds where Mega's throat muscles spasm wildly around him, drawing out a long string of ragged gasps and groans. Mega adjusts, or forces himself to adjust, because the spasms and little choking noises stop and he begins to slide up and down in a slow and steady rhythm. For long minutes, Jay forgets how to breathe, only managing a sharp inhalation every now and again, when the burning in his lungs begins to match the burning in the pit of his stomach. On the floor before him, there's more rustling, more zips, more thuds, but the rhythm never alters and Jay is far too far gone to care about anything else Mega may be doing. Then Mega's mouth leaves him with an un-subtle pop.

"Don't stop," Jay pleads roughly before he knows what he's saying. He hears a startled hitch of breath as the warm presence between his legs moves away. In one distant corner of his mind, it occurs to him that his wrists hurt, and it's another few seconds before Jay realises they hurt because he's straining at his bonds, as hard as he can manage. As soon it's spoken, however, it's dismissed as the same slight body settles over him, Mega's lips softly meeting his. The kiss is less hungry than he would have expected, interrupted by sporadic, brief gasps from Mega. Mega's lips taste delicately salty now, in a way that bothers Jay though he couldn't explain why. Slicked with something cool to the touch, Mega's hand finds Jay's cock again, stroking him firmly enough to make him writhe and groan, just short of enough to make him come. Even when Mega's weight leaves him and he moves close enough for the tip of his own erection to brush against Jay's stomach, the strokes keep perfect time.

Up until Mega braces his other, equally slippery hand against Jay's shoulder and begins to sink down onto Jay's erection. He's tighter than Jay would have expected, tighter than Jay remembers it having been with another guy. There's a helpless little sound accompanying Mega's staccato breaths, a sound he wouldn't have thought Mega capable of making, something Jay wonders if he ought to be concerned about, only all he can think about is Mega's tight, slick heat around him. On the edge of his control, Jay bucks up abruptly and feels Mega's hand tighten sharply on his shoulder, hears a choked sound that speaks far more of pain than of pleasure. An apology dies on his lips when Mega begins to move, leaning forward against Jay for support. One arm wraps around Jay's shoulder, holding him close as Mega buries his face in Jay's neck. They're both moaning now, Jay quiet and low, Mega breathy and keening, each trying to establish his own rhythm. Jay's eyes are open behind the blindfold, the darkness touched with mad streaks of light as the chair groans dangerously beneath them.

Orgasm takes Jay by surprise, swift and sharp as blade, and he arches well up off the chair as he comes. Mega is not far behind him, his moan like a sound of mourning as he stills suddenly, his fingers curling around Jay's neck. In the quiet afterwards, above his own laboured panting, Jay finally recognises Mega's arrhythmic gasps as sobbing. Mega kisses him once, open-mouthed, and slides off his lap with a sharp hiss of discomfort. The sound of ragged breathing recedes with Mega, fades away to an uncomfortable dead silence. Jay knows he ought to say something, but nothing he can think of seems at all appropriate. Somewhere between post-coital and exhausted is a poor state of mind for finding words to console a half-hysterical crazy person.

The touch of the cool washcloth on his softening cock surprises Jay, would have made him jump if he hadn't been bone-tired and tied-down. With scientific, passionless strokes Jay is wiped clean of their mingled spunk, tucked back into his trousers and set back into some semblance of order, his belt and his undershirt replaced. Rustles and the noize of zippers across the room afterwards suggest Mega doing the same thing, his own dressing interrupted periodically by sharp, quiet gasps. There is a moment where all movement stills, and Jay wonders, in irrational fatigue, if Mega's disappeared. Then a shuffle, and a rustle, and a last kiss that tastes of salt. Tear-salt, not sex-salt, Jay realises. Mega moves away, and Jay is surprised to find himself arching to follow, even afterwards. There's the slide-clunk of a lock, and Jay can imagine Mega pausing, one hand on the doorknob, but can't guess at Mega's expression.

"I'm sorry." Mega's voice is flat, toneless and emotionless. The only sign of any feeling is when his voice cracks, only once, on the last syllable. "If it's any consolation, you won't remember this tomorrow." There's the sound of the door, and then there's silence. Jay is alone again, and feeling more alone now than he ever has.  



	2. Xǐ Năo.

  
There was only darkness, stretched back as far as I could remember. Then I opened my eyes, to a vast plane of wrinkled white, the horizon line blending into crimson interrupted by a closed door. A bed, then, in a room. With a door. My head felt like it'd been emptied and stuffed full of... what were they called? Cotton balls. There was a tense feeling behind my eyes, like I was meant to do something I'd neglected, and a sensation like I was about to sneeze. I sneezed.

"Bless you." A voice, behind me. That explained the weight pulling down the mattress, at least, the aura of warmth. I tried to turn over and was very clearly and suddenly made aware of a dull ache that pervaded from the neck down, a weakness in my limbs I was at a loss to explain.

"No." The voice again. At least, I thought it was the same voice. There was a definite familiarity there. "Don't try to move yet." A cool hand was laid across my forehead, and I sighed in gratitude. Behind me, I heard a sharp intake of breath. A gasp? No, something subtler. But it surprised me to hear it in a way I was at a loss to explain. "Do you know where you are?" It was a stupid question, and I opened my mouth with the intention of telling him so.

"I don't," was what was rasped out instead, and with a growing sense of horror I realised it was the truth. Though the room itself was painfully familiar to me, I could not have named what building it was in, what city the building was in, even what country. I struggled again to sit up, felt gently restraining hands light on my shoulders, push me to my back. After a few seconds' token struggles I let myself slowly give in, sinking back against the pillow. He leaned over me then, and thought I couldn't have put a name to the face, I knew I knew it, along with the voice it belonged to. Releasing me, he slid off his glasses and leaned back to put them somewhere outside my field of vision. He bent again, close enough for me to feel his breath, taste chocolate there, but his expression was a clinical squint as he stared into my eyes. A rill of heat, unexplainable, ran through me at the proximity.

"How does your head feel?" He asked softly, a touch on my neck making my heart race. A faint frown of concern showed more in his brows than his mouth, wrinkling the circled 'T' there. Why did that symbol seem suddenly so meaningful? It was a few moments before I remembered he'd asked me a question.

"Like it's been hollowed out and.. and... stuffed with... something," I finished lamely, wincing. I'd just been thinking about it, too, what it felt like, but trying to recall only brought a sharp and sudden spike of pain.

"It hurts?" I could only nod, a hand raised halfway to my head. "Did it hurt before, or just now?"

"Now." The word was a croak.

"And the rest of you?" The sheets and blanket were stripped away quickly enough to startle a wheeze out of me. I felt him pick up my hand, begin to rub my knuckles. The ache there eased.  
"Hurts."

"Is the pain unbearable? I could bring you something..."

"No." I couldn't have explained why the idea of painkillers bothered me so much, but it was pretty clear that, for whatever reason, the idea was a bad one.

"If you insist." The sudden shadow of a smile made my heart twist, made my breath catch in my throat. For a split second there was a sea change in his expression, and he lost his wall, his cool detachment. For a moment I saw him look afraid, lost, desperate, and painfully in love, all at once. "Do you know who I am?" He asked suddenly, his voice hot and breathy and anguished. I wanted desperately to give him the answer I was sure he needed, but I found that I couldn't bring myself to lie.

"I don't. I'm sorry, I... feel like I ought to, but I can't remember." To my further surprise, he looked relieved at my answer, and I watched as he carefully composed himself again.

"Do you know about the Virus?" At last, an easy answer.

"Of course."

"The Internet?" I gave him a look, between puzzled and questioning, unable to tell where he was trying to steer the line of questioning.

"Yeah."

"Do you know when Christmas is? Halloween? Waitangi Day?"

"December 25th, October 31st, February 6th. What, exactly, are you testing me on here? I didn't expect some kind of Spanish Inquisition." It was a joke. I recognised it as a joke, but I couldn't for the life of me remember why it was supposed to be funny.

"Do you remember Ved?" The name was, indeed, as painfully familiar to me as this man's face, but whereas the man had no name attached to him, the name of Ved carried with it no mental image for me to latch onto, no discernible ties to explain the sudden ache in my heart.

"Not exactly. I... I know I know him... or her... But I can't remember who he is. Or how I know him. Or her."

"Fascinating," he murmured to himself, somewhere between amazement and the clinical detachment. "Do you remember Ram?" Another jolt, startlingly strong.

"Random access memory or a male sheep?" Another halfhearted attempt at humour.

"Neither." There was that edge of a smile curving his lips again. "A male human, as a matter of fact. To you, I guess one might say... He was an ex." It was both expected and not. From my reaction to him, I might well of guessed I was attracted to men. It was unexpected because it made me realise I couldn't remember ever having had a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, for that matter. Or a crush. In fact, I couldn't remember, with any kind of clarity, anybody I'd ever met in my entire life. I couldn't even recall my parents' names and faces. I couldn't even remember... I sat up, too quickly for him to stop me.

" _Who am I?_ " I managed to gasp out before the pain in my head became too much and darkness took over again.  



	3. The World Is Not Enough

  
I told Jay to keep a diary, to write down what bits and pieces come to him in flashes of memory from day to day. I was surprised when he had actually done as I'd asked. Maybe it was all that time as his arch-nemesis, but I'd gotten to thinking of him as an oppositional person. But no, Jay accepted the journal I handed him with a song and a sunny smile, the sort I can't remember ever having been directed at me before. It should have been a shining, victorious moment, but instead it only made me ache. I'd promised myself I'd think about it later. The diary. The diary is as much for me as it is for Jay. I'm almost sure he knows I read what he writes, taking the notebook out of the bedside table and reading his neat letters by moonlight. He doesn't remember anything. Oh, I am utterly jubilant. Jay says he can almost remember a brother now, and some hazy recollection of parents, but of recent events he's apparently completely ignorant. I should be happier than I've ever been in my life. Nothing else I've planned has ever worked so well. All his friends think he's dead, 'escaped' Amber included, and thanks to a tip-off from poor lovestruck Jack, I'd narrowly avoided having not only Jay's induced amnesia ruined but having my entire system compromised. I might have prevented another Armageddon. So.

"Why am I not happy?" It's a question directed to myself, my glasses on the desk, the heels of my hands pressing into my eyes.

"Beats me." Heart pounding, I whirl around, leaving my chair clattered to the ground. I hadn't expected an answer, hadn't heard Jay come to stand in the doorway and lean, all long lines and black spandex and smiles and sunshine.

"I wasn't asking you." I frown at him, getting back the same confused-puppy look my coldness always brings out in him. I don't like it, but I can't prevent it. I've worn masks before, God knows, but it's hard to pretend to this Jay, soft and kind and naive.

"You could." He smiles. I have to wonder, sometimes, if he doesn't understand more than he lets on, if he's not by leaps and bounds smarter than I tend to give him credit for being. In more horrifying moments, I even wonder if maybe he does remember, if all this sweetness isn't some kind of terrible mind game. But guile knows guile. Jay's never been anything but straightforward, even as a Techno. The real Jay, the one who wants me dead, would never say such things. Never write such things. ' _I wish I could remember what I've done to upset him_ '. God.

"Why am I not happy, Jay?" I snap, snide as always, awaiting the puzzled unhappiness that always follows across his expression. It's almost easier to look at than his warm contentedness. I'm certainly more used to seeing Jay unhappy, even irate. But it doesn't come. Jay smiles at me from the doorway, through my scowl, and I can't help but feel the corners of my mouth curve in return.

"I don't know." He shrugs, spare lines and elegance. "I am." The smile broadens into a grin, and I know it's the truth. I've never felt so helpless, so confused. I drop my head into my hands, to hide my expression, to hide from Jay, and sag back against the desk. He's across the room in a series of soft clanks and softer rustles, wrapping his arms around me and resting his cheek against my head like I'm some crying child who needs to be held. I'm not, I never have been, but I sink into the embrace anyway, feel the cold line of the uniform's zipper press into my skin.

"Why?" I ask his chest, my eyes squeezed shut even though all the view I'd get is smooth spandex shirt anyway. It's an honest question, the most dangerous kind. Have I really not been happy in so long that I can't imagine what it must feel like? Jay's silent for a few long moments. I almost think he's not going to dignify it with an answer at all.

"I've got you, haven't I?" That stings like little else, hearing Jay say it so baldly. He seems convinced we're lovers, a hypothesis I've done nothing to contradict. Stroking his arm to wake him up in the morning. Smiling, when I can. Being, for me, indulgent. Kind. After all, it's ostensibly what I'd wanted all this time. "Everyone around here is nice, even when they're kind of walking on eggshells." Of course. I'd warned them to be careful, that the prodigal General would not quite be himself. I'd warned them not to mention his past. Of course they're cautious, I'd get rid of them if they weren't. But they can't help but treat him like the _good_ boss come back from a long vacation any more than I can. For a long time he is silent, holding me until the urge to scream or cry passes, until the blue-white light of the monitors behind me blinks to energy-saving black.

"Jay-" It's barely a whisper. He cuts me off.

"Why aren't you happy?" The question is soft, softly-spoken, but there is steel under it. Jay is confused, clearly, but there's something else. I forget so easily that Jay is not only optimistic and unaccountably sweet, but that he is also strong. Steady. My first impulse is to reject the question, push it away until I can forget it was ever asked. I'm so sick of asking it. But it's a valid point, and Jay doesn't deserve more silence from me. It does take a few moments until I can say what I mean without giving away too much. It's easier than one might think to ruin the memory blocks.

"I don't know," I begin, echoing his answer. "I have... nearly everything I want." Power. Jay. I can't say I have everything because my power is not absolute. Because Ram's still alive, and Amber. Because my mother isn't. "I can't enjoy it." I don't mean sex, not exactly, though there hasn't been any since the night before Jay's 'execution'. I can see he wants it. I want it. But I can't, not after the look on Jay's face when he saw me the morning after. I'd rather die without touching him again than see that poison, that vitriol directed at me again. I know the amnesia programme well enough to know that the blocks in his mind won't last forever, and when they break down I can't have him look at me as a rapist.

"Why not?" Jay's voice is soft, his hands gentle as he tilts my chin up, rains soft kisses on my cheeks, my lips. My nails dig into my palms. I vacillate between stiffening and melting, nearly losing grip on the situation. Those gentle hands slide down my chest and I catch them sharply, though they stay pressed against me because I can't stand not to be touching him right now.

"It won't last," I say, as cold and as sharp as I can be, staring up at him through darkness and the fog of nearsightedness. Jay must be learning, because he only smiles, only ducks down to impress upon me a far less subtle kiss, our mouths locked tight together, pressing me back hard against the edge of the desk. When he pulls back I almost lunge to follow him, and this makes him grin not unkindly.

"Nothing lasts forever, Mega." He bends to kiss me again, lips and teeth and tongue, and I accept it, welcome it, crave it. But though he's cliched, he's unwittingly hit the nail on the head, and when his hands wander to my belt buckle I push him away, stumble past him to the doorway. There I stop, unable to turn around and face what must be a hurt look in his eyes.

"Exactly," I hiss bitterly, and though it's the hardest thing in the world, I leave.

**Author's Note:**

> This is flagged as 'Rape', despite Jay's protestations to the contrary, because Mega thinks it is and does it anyway, and because Jay was put into a position where he couldn't fully give consent, so technically it was.


End file.
